Relative Being The Operative Word (Here)
by ghirahim
Summary: Biologically speaking one cannot choose family, you are given what DNA permits – it's a fickle bastard that way. Things like adoption, marriage, friendship exist to do what biology cannot: give you a choice in who you call family. Meanwhile, psychiatrists exist to help you distance yourself from your family, whether you share DNA or not.
1. my life, the new cliché

Disclaimer: Yeah, yeah, yeah we've been through this before. I own nothing and make no money. We get it.

A/N: I'm going with Magneto's original name of Max Eisenhardt in this series

* * *

You see or hear of stories all the time where a child in the system or fresh out of it jumps through hoops trying to connect with the parent(s) that abandoned them, seeking answers and whatnot. Thomas "Shepherd" is no exception. He spent fourteen years in the system, jumping from potential foster family to potential foster family but no one seemed keen on keeping him. Why adoption agencies let people "rent" children was beyond him. Was it even legal? People weren't like boats or cars or clothes or something else you could try out and return if it doesn't suit your tastes. Between orphanages, he also spent hefty amounts of time in various juvenile detention centers.

Most people blamed his behavior on his lack of parents; Tommy blamed it on his lack of giving a shit. He dreamed of meeting his parents, what orphan doesn't, but he never acted out because he didn't have them. Or at least, he doesn't think he acts out because his parents left him. Can't blame people you don't know for something you have no control over.

He thought about his parents – tried to picture their personalities and how little or much of them he got, same with looks. Inherited looks can be tricky because the cardinal rule is when two hot people reproduce the universe deems it unfair, gets pissed, then gives them a subpar looking child as comeuppance. He's seen it happen before and if there's one thing the universe loves dishing out, it's payback.

In any event, despite dreaming about it, he never thought he'd meet his parents – or, in his case, meet _him_. His father, who solely goes by "Vision" for reasons he wasn't going to ask. Their meeting was Tommy literally bumping into him after school one day. The man gives him a creepy thousand yard stare before asking about some "Wanda" person. Then Vision continues staring at him. He ends up missing curfew that night, but it is worth it because Vision adopts him when he takes him back to the orphanage. And yes, apparently a father has to adopt his child through the system like every other schmuck. Apparently, when a father does not know a child—_his child_—exists, therefore not claiming them, after a certain time he forfeits the rights to said child.

Due to Vision's being one paranoid fucker (Tommy is sure isn't even human), there's a DNA test proving Maury-style that he is the father.

The only reason Vision even got to know, then subsequently adopt, him was because he said he looks just like this Wanda person who Tommy has to hazard a guess and say is the woman who gave birth to him. Considering the old man didn't know of his existence, this Wanda lady is the only one to blame in terms of abandonment.

Vision doesn't know where Wanda is and has been looking for her himself for – strangely enough – the past fourteen and a half years.

During the five months they were father and son, the two of them traveled across the globe searching for a Wanda Maximoff but came up short. They did, however, get some much-needed bonding in and scored some pretty sweet souvenirs along the way.

It is September, which means Tommy is fifteen (in give or take two weeks) and set to start high school. How he graduated middle school is anyone's guess. It might be one of the great mysteries of life. New York becomes their semi-permanent residence because Vision claims to be "born" here (again, not one-hundred percent sure the guy is human, but he has human DNA so...) but hasn't visited since birth.

When they visited Germany, Vision said it was where he and Wanda met. He didn't fully divulge the details of their encounter, and Tommy didn't ask. As far as Tommy is concerned there is no skin off his ass if Wanda didn't want him. His father did—_does_—and that's more than enough for him.

Vision doesn't have any old photos of Wanda on his person (which was a huge relief because that would be creepy as fuck) but Google finds a picture of her; Google finds various pictures of her. Vision's memory was spot on; making Tommy's hunch correct. Tommy looked—_looks_—just like her: except she has long brown hair where his is naturally white. Most importantly, in a purely aesthetic way, Wanda is smoking hot.

Thank fuck for genetics.

Even if it doesn't explain his hair color.

That isn't to say Vision isn't hot himself, again – purely aesthetic, but his hot is simmering compared to hers. Evidently, the universe okays this sort of match-up and doesn't vindictively shit all over your offspring. He's living proof of that.

"You sure you don't wanna continue this search for your first love?" He beams at Vision who shakes his head with a small, sad smile; a smile Tommy hates seeing on the old man's face.

"It is often said you find what or who you are looking for when you are not searching for them." Tommy nods because his dad is deep like that. A trait he did not inherit from the guy. He's not sure if he's thankful for that yet. "I believe there must have been a reason why she left, and our presence might cause her unnecessary suffering."

"Her presence might cause _us_ unnecessary suffering too, you know?" Tommy says with a shrug, "what's causing me suffering now is this." With a sigh, he holds up the uniform. "I'm all for the fancy, overprice school. However, I'm not down with this at all."

"While I agree the uniform is..." Vision slowly and expressionlessly looks the offending articles of clothing up and down, "atrocious, we chose the school based on academics and location." He smirks slightly, "besides the uniforms looked better on the website."

"You're enjoying this, aren't you?"

✪ ✪ ✪ .

They managed to get the uniform before paying tuition, and had it not been for the disgusting amount of honesty Vision possesses (another trait Tommy didn't inherit. One he _is_ thankful for not getting), they probably wouldn't have paid tuition at all. There was also the matter of the equipment down payment.

If Vision can afford to shell out a little under $10,000 for a school year, living in the Upper West Side of Manhattan is nothing. Which, according to Manhattanites, is the "richer" of the two between the Upper West Side and Upper East Side. Vision claims his "grandparents" left him a sizable inheritance, but he hasn't said much about who these alleged people truly are, nor has he said anything about his parents. But, who is Tommy to judge?

His new school, _St. Margaret's_, is every bit as fancy as the brochure and website entail. The school year doesn't begin for another two days, so either these uniform wearing people are getting an early jump on learning or even the teachers wear these hideous uniforms.

This school's assistant headmaster/principal/all around overseer is Margaret Carter – who the school ironically is not named after – an older woman who is severely bullshit intolerant. Tommy found that part out the hard way during their first encounter. "Thomas, Vision." She nods her greeting. "What can I do for you two this morning?"

Vision smoothly takes his seat while Tommy follows suit with far less grace. He hasn't been with the man long enough to mimic how smoothly he moves. It's almost as if he glides or something. "We are here to pay tuition, Mrs. Carter." The former replies folding his hands over his lap.

Margaret blinks at him and before now Tommy didn't think the woman was capable of expressing surprise. "Pay? Thomas' tuition has already been paid."

Tommy and Vision exchange glances, "by whom... if you do not mind our asking?" Of all the traits to inherit, Tommy's grateful he seemingly got the whole proper(ish) grammar part from his dad.

Margaret sifts through the folders on her desk opening one saying: "The person responsible for paying Thomas' full four-year tuition was Max Eisenhardt." Tommy and Vision continue to stare at one another with similarly confused expressions on their faces. Who the hell was Max Eisenhardt and why was he going around tossing 40Gs their way? Not that Tommy isn't grateful for the early Christmas—_Hanukkah_ present. On their trip to Germany, Vision confessed to practicing Judaism way before he was born.

He may be Jewish genetically but Tommy isn't sure about converting in a religious aspect since his faith is pretty subpar and religious talks make him squeamish. Religiously speaking, he doesn't even celebrate Christmas.

Margaret frowns closing the folder. "Mr. Eisenhardt was adamant about paying, that isn't a problem... is it?" When is free money ever a problem? "He said he knows you. Normally, that is where I do background checks because anyone can say anything, but I did not deal with Mr. Eisenhardt's payment personally. When asked one of my staff members said he replied with a detailed explanation regarding the nature of your relationship." Vision glances at Tommy briefly and the teen shrugs in reply. "I apologize if this inconvenienced you in any way."

Vision frowns shaking his head. "Not an inconvenience, per se, more like confusion. I received a phone call yesterday morning about Tommy's tuition."

"Ah, well, the folders say Mr. Eisenhardt came in yesterday afternoon. I'm not sure why no one contacted you." The assistant headmaster sighs. "I suppose they thought Mr. Eisenhardt would—"

"There's school on Sunday?"

Margaret chuckles a bit. A truly terrifying sound. "No Thomas, there is no school on Sundays. We do have school every other Saturday." A fact Tommy both knew and hated. "We're only open now to prevent confusion when classes actually start. Evidently, it did not work."

"Oh..." Vision stands, "well if there are no other issues we must be going. I apologize for wasting your time, Mrs. Carter." Tommy stands as well warily eyeing his father.

"There's no trouble at all." Vision nods before leaving with Tommy trailing behind.

"You don't owe this Eisenhardt fella money, do you?" Tommy asks once they start walking down the hall. "I guess not because he wouldn't be _paying_ if he was owed money. Does he owe you money?"

"I have never heard of anyone by that name, let alone allowed them to borrow money from me... especially that much money."

"Ooh! Google him."

"That is your solution to everything." Tommy shrugs in reply, nevertheless Vision takes out his cellphone pressing the mic button on his Google app. "Max Eisenhardt..." He says into the phone. The screen lights up going all white before pictures of a pretty grumpy looking, yet aesthetically appealing old man pop up. Max Eisenhardt was born in Germany. They didn't see the guy (or even hear of him) when they were there so that couldn't be the reason for this money drop-off. Max Eisenhardt has also recently reunited with his daughter: _Wanda Maximoff_.

"Shit." The two of them reply simultaneously.

✪ ✪ ✪ .

When Max Eisenhardt found out he had a daughter, he did everything in his power to make sure his daughter had everything she needed – not everything she wanted, a common mistake most parents make. Considering he was dirt poor, and not legally married, he struggled on the "_everything_" part. Still, Anya never had any complaints about his and Magda's combined parenting. It's a miracle she still does not have any complaints.

He and Magda were crazily, irritatingly in love with one another... for a while. People always say love doesn't fade, but they don't know how terrifyingly wrong they truly are. It was just a good thing they got out before a legal marriage could happen. After Magda left him (taking Anya with her), the two of them only made contact through their daughter. Once Anya moved out from her mother's Max kept in touch with her more frequently.

Despite having his daughter with him digitally she was not around physically. After the whole separation and traveling to America thing, there was Lorna. Lorna... born of one (or a few?) passionless night(s?) in Eastern Europe (he's honestly not sure where but that's beside the point). He found Lorna, approximately twenty-four years ago, among the wreckage of a "mysterious" plane crash. The plane's only passengers were the three-year-old and her parents. The case was deemed "unsolvable" but Max figured it was Lorna's powers that aided her survival; the powers she inherited from him.

Ever since then (after the irritating adoption part), he was able to live with the three-year-old. Lorna immediately had her surname changed from Dane to Eisenhardt (only one letter down in the alphabet so if she were attending school it wouldn't be too far of a jump). Then, upon hearing Lorna's former surname, he remembers the married woman he impregnated named Suzanna.

Suzanna's parents (whom he met one time while their daughter was still alive), weren't pleased to admit she confided in them about him, and her husband at the time not being her daughter's father. They were even less pleased about the fact that a mutant impregnated their daughter, giving them a mutant granddaughter. In spite of Suzanna's claim, her parents still insisted on a DNA test. Max didn't know if they were speciesists or simply pissed their daughter cheated on her husband with him. Either way, he was able to take Lorna when the DNA tests proved he is her father.

For over twenty years he's just had Lorna (with Anya digitally conversing with them).

Then he finds out he has _yet another_ daughter.

This other, older, daughter is fully grown and – as expected – wants nothing to do with him, also expected; not that he can blame her. Three is by no means a large number, but when it is just one more than the number of children you fathered yet do not know _exists_, that's pretty large.

Ironically, he met Wanda several times within the span of twenty-four years. Though he found something strangely familiar about her, being related to him – being his daughter – never crossed his mind. He already has two kids with an eighteen year age gap.

As it turns out, Magda gave Wanda up for adoption because – case and point – the woman went absolutely nuts... which was the nicest way to put it. Wanda somehow got in contact with her mother (fresh out of the nut-house) who redirected Wanda's rage toward him; as he somehow figured Magda would. It was bad enough Magda took Anya from him, but not only does she do the same for Wanda she gives her away as well.

He's only known Wanda is his daughter for less than a month, and she's been pissed at him for just as long (maybe even longer). She is the child of Magda and himself, getting in her good graces will not be an easy task. He, Lorna, and Anya perform a background check discovering Wanda's adoption, bouts with depression, and yearly visits to mental health centers from ages seven to nineteen. Nineteen is when she gave birth/gave her child up for adoption. A vicious cycle Max was set on stopping.

The boy was removed from the system by a man solely known as _Vision_.

Considering Wanda is unaware of their objective asking her about this "Vision" guy would be pointless. Fortunately, the people working in the Jersey City orphanage have been working there for hundreds of years, so they keep a list of every child ever brought in. Information on the children isn't supposed to be given out to just anyone, but Max can be very persuasive. Wanda didn't even drop him off – the hospital did, but they didn't need any prompting to tattle on his daughter.

The orphanage named the boy Thomas and gave him the last name of the man who ran the place, which was Shepherd. With this information in mind, the three of them searched the globe for a Thomas Shepherd. Thomas spent the last few months traveling the globe taking a three week long trip to Germany (Max's place of birth), his "father" with him the entire time. The two of them finally settled on New York after almost six months of globe-trotting. Vision found/adopted Thomas in Mississippi – quite the distance from Jersey City. The employees at the orphanage(s), who've been there for more than ten years, claimed Thomas was a troublemaker so they'd schlep him around to find a place he'd stick. Not that they ever found one.

Thomas Shepherd is to attend St. Margaret's Academy in Manhattan, New York in a few days. Miraculously, the school lets him skate by without paying tuition so close to the first day. What better way to get to know his grandson by making such a bold, random gesture that Thomas and Vision would have no choice but to try and find the man who paid all that money?

If they hadn't figured out who he was already they'd just want to get to understand _why_ he did what he did – then they'd know. Either way, he was going to meet his grandson, whether Wanda knew he was around or not.

Wanda may not want anything to do with him now, but Wanda's son was not her. As neither Anya nor Lorna have children of their own (yet, or that anyone know of) this would be his first grandchild. It will also, surprisingly, be his only male relative – unless he had some other child set to come out of the woodwork.

✪ ✪ ✪ .

"You want to _meet_ Max?!" Tommy screeches. "Do you not know a trap when you see it?"

"I am aware of Eisenhardt's intentions and the reasoning behind them."

"No, nuh-uh, not gonna happen. If he knows it's only a matter of time before he tells Wanda." Vision tilts his head to the right. "What? She forfeited the right to be called anything maternal years ago." Tommy sighs, "did you ever met him? Wanda's father?" Vision pauses then shakes his head.

"Assuming we met in the past, now a likely scenario. I would not have realized who he is; he and Wanda have different surnames." Tommy nods knowingly. "However, as likely as it could be, I have no memory of him, so I am certain we never met before." It's times like this that make Tommy wonder why Vision sometimes spoke all proper and robotic like, always going on about memories and data and stuff. No matter. It was one of Vision's adorable little quirks.

"How _certain_ would you say you are?"

"About eighty percent?" Vision frowns. "Maybe seventy-five. In any event, I take it you do not have an interest in meeting him then?"

"Hell no, dad, why would I? Because he's my apparent maternal grandfather? No, thank you. I'm not all that interested in meeting anyone on _that_ side of my 'family.' Let's just send him one of those customary 'thank you' notes and move on with our lives."

"And if he demands restitution?"

"Resti—you mean if he wants the money back?" Vision nods. "Then we pay him. Not much else we can do. Sure, it'll take a while but—"

"It would be easier to see him than to pay him back."

Fuck, that was true. Even if Vision was okay with paying $10,000 for the year _while paying for the apartment they live in_, that probably did not equate to $40,000 right now. It was less than $10,000 a year for tuition, which meant it would be four years – minimum – they'd spend paying him back. Tommy would be nineteen and already done with high school (hopefully) and _still_ be paying back the man they're trying hard to ignore. Dealing with him was clearly both the lesser of two evils and, by far, the less expensive option. Damn Gossip Girl for making him—_them_—want the whole private school feel! Binge watching high school series and movies on Netflix... why did he come up with that idea? Damn unrealistic preparation! "What if he isn't satisfied seeing me just once and demands the money back all the same? What if he sees me once then wants to keep seeing me? Would we still have to pay him? Would he drop it? Every question points to whatever we do, we're screwed. Like, mafia style screwed."

"Not quite, he merely believes he is forcing our hand. This grand gesture was just to gain our attention."

"Yeah, and he got it. He knows he got it. It's kinda hard to ignore that big of a grand gesture."

"True, and he thinks we'll be interested in meeting him."

"You are."

"Yes, _I_ am." Tommy eyes him dubiously. "But you are not." Vision shakes his head. "That's not important. What I'm suggesting is we do nothing at all."

"Now you lost me."

"All I'm saying is we need him to _think _we would not 'look a gift horse in the mouth' and not bother questioning his generosity. Then, as you put it, we'll move on with our lives."

"Ooh!" Tommy grins, "how dishonest of you."

"You are a wonderfully terrible influence." Tommy's grin broadens. "However, if that only serves to piss him off further _then _we are screwed... mafia style."

Tommy's grin slips off his face then he gulps. "Got it." He sighs, "out of curiosity, how much is in your bank account? Like what's your net worth and all that?"

"I have about $85,000 saved up – for both high school and college if you should choose to go." Cool, he gets a choice in the matter? Best. Dad. Ever! "If we need to pay him back I'm prepared to do so."

"Right, let's keep that in mind. In the far back of our minds."

"There is also the matter of my inheritance, which is worth about three million."

"D-Dollars!?" Vision nods. Well, that explains the fancy apartment and school. Wait a minute, no it doesn't! It just brings about more questions! "B-But if you have money saved up you don't intend on using your inheritance?"

"That is correct but as much as it pains me to say if we need to pay Eisenhardt off to give us peace of mind I am prepared to deal with my grandmother." Tommy whistles. He makes a mental note to ask about his paternal grandma in the future if it elicits the response of Vision shuddering briefly. "But that is our last resort."

"Agreed. No sense in dragging more family in this..." Even though this is Vision's family and not Wanda's. Surprisingly, he doesn't mind the thought of dealing with the paternal side of his family – at least not yet. "You must be terrified of your grandma then, huh?"

"You have no idea. The time I spent with her was brief but scarring all the same." Ouch. Seems like this whole "family" ordeal is not worth the drama. And yet, the thought of seeing his dad terrified has a certain appeal. Mostly due to Vision always being so composed. "Although..." He eyes Tommy, "she might be able to help us, without the money."

"Oh?" Vision nods, "guess there's no harm in asking." Tommy claps his hands together. "If she can help, let's do it."

✪ ✪ ✪ .

"Ms. van Dyne..." The brunette glances up from her tablet at the security guard standing in the doorway. "A man on the line for you. He claims to be a vision?"

The brunette raises a skeptical eyebrow, "a vision... on my phone?" The guard nods. Frowning slightly, she stares at the man who squirms a bit. "Wait... did the man say _he is a vision, or his name is vision_?"

"Um... I believe the former?"

She rolls her eyes extending one of her hands, "give me the phone." Nodding, the man walks over to her placing the cordless phone in her hand. Contemplating the life choices regarding having an old-fashioned office phone as a good idea, she places the tablet on the couch then presses the phone to her ear. "Hello?"

There's a bit of static before someone clears their throat. _"H-Hello Janet."_

The brunette's eyes widen considerably, "hold on." She looks up at the guard smiling sweetly. "You can go now. Thanks." Nodding furiously, the man retreats. Sighing, she puts the phone to her ear again. "Motherfucker, nice to hear from you, V!"

_"And you as well, Jan. I must apologize for not keeping contact with you. Given the nature of your relationship with Henry I figured you'd want as little to do with him as possible."_ Janet snorts, that wasn't even the half of it. _"I am aware this is out of the blue, and you are free to decline. I would not be surprised if you did, but—"_ A pause, _"I—_we_—require your assistance."_

Janet sits up, "we? Who is we?"

_"We is myself and my son Thomas."_

"S-Son?" Janet squeals. Her baby has a baby!

The brunette hears shuffling in the background before: _"Yup, son. That's what I am. I'm guessing that makes you my great-grandma?"_ Janet pulls the phone away from her ear to stare at it in disbelief before slowly pressing it back. _"—ame's Tommy. Nice to, uh, hear you."_

"Likewise. Can Vision hear me?"

_"Yeah... hold on, I'll put it on speaker."_

"Where are you?"

The two of them are muttering to one another, and Janet taps the edge of her tablet with a staccato rhythm. Her rhythm doesn't falter once during the solid minute of murmuring between the two and just before Janet snaps at them _"Manhattan"_ is what Vision blurts out. Janet's head snaps up toward the window, eyes narrowing at the Empire State Building. She hears more murmuring before everything goes silent for a few seconds then someone (probably Vision) lets out a weary sigh. _"I'm assuming your silence indicates your interest in meeting?"_

The brunette lets out a disapproving groan of Marge Simpson quality. "You're damn right I have an interest in meeting. What do you need help with anyway? You know what, never mind. It's probably something you can't or shouldn't discuss over the phone. And I'm not even gonna ask how long you've been here. We're going to meet on neutral ground. I have a hotel room in the Langham Place I intend on putting to good use – we'll meet there, fifteen minutes, Vision. I will time you."

_"Of course, we'll be there."_

"Good. Looking forward to seeing you there." Then she hangs up. She glances at the door then puts the phone down on the couch, the opposite side of where she put the tablet. The last time she heard from Vision, she and Henry were still on speaking terms, hard to believe that was nearly two decades ago. It's 2016 now and though Janet doesn't look a day over thirty having a grandson in his thirties doesn't seem believable.

Oh well, she has a great-grandson now. She stands to smooth out the wrinkles in her skirt. Time to meet the fam.

✪ ✪ ✪ .

Like many things in life being wealthy has its pros and cons. _Pro_: being able to buy whatever you want (depending on the amount of wealth you possess). _Con_: (also depending on your wealth) the so-called "status" of you – or in most instances – your family. For Janet van Dyne: genius, scientist, fashion designer, philanthropist, socialite, and entrepreneur (among other things), as well as the daughter of Vernon van Dyne. Her father being a world renowned scientist was a pretty f-ing big con.

Usually, the scientist types solely recognized her as Vernon's only offspring. An apparent big deal. A bigger deal than any and everything she's ever done in life! _Rude_! Janet van Dyne accomplished a lot of shit in her life too! She doesn't play second fiddle to anyone, not even her father.

In any event... here she is, in her hotel room, sitting across from her grandson and great-grandson. "So..." Janet begins, eyeing the two of them, "how did this happen?" Vision tilts his head and Janet sighs. "The son? Not in the _actual_ sense either. I know the mechanics."

"Oh!" Vision blushes. "A few months ago I met Thomas near a Mississippi orphanage." The white-haired teen nods in agreement. "DNA has proven he is my son." Janet blinks at him. "We found out earlier today his maternal grandfather paid for his tuition at St. Margaret's yesterday afternoon. Tuition for all four years and the two of us have not discussed whether or not he would continue to attend the school when the first year was over."

"Guess you don't have to discuss it anymore. Who's the baby granddaddy?" Janet asks waggling her eyebrows.

"Mrs. Carter says his name is Max Eisenhardt."

"The mutant rights activist?" Vision and Tommy share a look. "What? He's a famous guy and all that. I may not be a mutant but I keep up with that stuff. Uh, I _know of him_, but I don't _know him_ or anything." She tilts her head. "You knocked up _his_ daughter? Which one?"

"Wanda Maximoff."

"I wasn't aware she was his daughter." The brunette hums. Not that she knows who Wanda Maximoff _is_. Janet only knows of Anya Eisenhardt and Lorna Eisenhardt. "Eisenhardt came to you trying to connect with his grandson? What do you need me to do? Pay him off. That'll be easy. Extort him? Also easy. Get him to back off? Well, that goes hand in hand with extortion."

"All we need is your advice."

"That's what we came here for!?" Tommy asks then groans. "I was all for a shakedown." Janet chuckles. "Ms. van Dyne, great-grams if I may, if you know of this guy do you know what he'll do if we ignore his charity?"

The brunette grimaces, "like I said I don't know him personally, but if someone ignored _my_ charity I'd be pretty miffed. Just thank him then, I don't know, move on with your lives. If that doesn't work we always have extortion; trust me, it'll be a breeze. My minions are always so eager to please. Oh, what do you know, that rhymed."

"Minions?" Tommy grins at Vision, "I like her."

"Yes, I had a feeling you would. So your advice is to thank him? Then what? He did this for Tommy, to get to know him." Janet glances at Tommy. "Tommy said he has no interest in meeting because it might lead to a meeting with his mother, which is also unwanted."

"I don't blame you. Doesn't really seem worth it. Unfortunately, I cannot fathom how you feel. My mother died when I was four, and I'd do almost anything for one chance to talk to or even see her." She shrugs, "but I my dad was with me the whole time. Had _he_ abandoned me we'd be having a different conversation."

"Dad didn't know about me, so he didn't wittingly abandon me. Wanda willingly left me, I get that she might have done it because she couldn't care for me, but that doesn't mean I have to up and forgive her. It's selfish, I know, but I'm not ready to meet her and I don't know when or if I'll ever be ready."

Vision puts an arm around Tommy drawing him near. "It's okay for you to be a little selfish, I imagine you want to get closer to your dad first." Janet nods to herself, "and it's really her loss because you seem like a cool kid." Tommy grins at her. "Hey! The three of us should have brunch or something together weekly since we're all in New York!"

"I would like that."

Tommy grins, "sure. Why not? If you're alright with my old man, you're alright with me. Not to mention you're Janet van Dyne: international model, entrepreneur, philanthropist, and fashion designer." He forgot a few things, but Janet wasn't about to point that out. "How cool is it I'm related to an actual celebrity?! _Wait! You're like forty-something_..." He glances at Vision, "and he's—"

Vision clamps a hand over his mouth, "let us focus on more pressing matters shall we?"

Who would have thought a few months after meeting his father he'd meet his great-grandma Find out he even has a great-grandma. A great-grandma! Some people don't have a grandparent let alone a great-grandparent.

Unfortunately, gushing over his familial relationship with Janet van Dyne has to take a backseat to "urgent matters."

Tommy grimaces at his reflection in the full-length mirror. No amount of marathoning or binge watching in the world would be enough to prepare him for high school, no amount of anything in the world can prepare him for this fucking uniform. As hot as he is, even he can't pull off this atrocity. And if _he_ can't, he's pretty sure no one can. "It is not as bad as you make it seem." Vision says putting his hands on Tommy's shoulders, "it is very patriotic."

"I've seen American Flags less patriotic than this uniform. The New England Patriots are not as patriotic as this uniform." Vision hums in agreement. The pants are striped blue and white (not plaid like most upper-crust uniforms), there's a hideous bright red sweater vest, a plain blue button-down shirt, and a striped red and white tie he won't wear – ever. The only source of individuality on his person are his socks (Yoda since he found a Star Wars three pack at some store he forgot the name of). Case in point, socks aside, he looks like a Neo Maxi Zoom Dweebie if he ever saw one.

Surprisingly, with all the rules in place, the school has no rules regarding piercings. While some schools don't allow male students with piercings, others don't allow any piercings of any kind.

Tommy doesn't have any piercings, yet. Moreover, if his dad is letting him decide whether he wants to go to college or not, can't rule out the possibility of a piercing or two. Perhaps even a tattoo (or several) is also possible in the future.

"You have the alternate uniforms." Tommy shudders. He's pretty sure an American Flag is on one of his alternate uniform somewhere. They need to find whoever designed these _things_ and beat them over the head, repeatedly, with several fashion magazines or a DVD box set of Project Runway; _various_ DVD box sets.

"I think you look adorable." Janet replies texting away on her phone.

"Grams, you're not even looking."

"We talked about that, Thomas." The white-haired teen sighs. He received a painstakingly thorough run-down as to why he should _never_ refer to Janet as "great-grandma" or any variant. Admittedly, he forgot the majority of the reasons, but he remembers one of them being Janet not looking old enough to be a great-grandma. Given Janet's youthful appearance she barely looks old enough to be a _parent_. That is not an exaggeration either. She got carded at the grocery store! Tommy hopes their shared genetics lets him look half his age in his forties/fifties as well.

That and the whole Vision not being human debate go hand-in-hand. Unless Janet gave birth at like twelve or something, her familial relationship with Vision is a mathematical impossibility.

Neither one discusses Janet's "son" (Vision's "father"), but they – scathingly one might add – mention a bug-obsessed dude who may or may not be Janet's ex-husband Harry or Henley or another H name. Assuming H is the correct letter. Janet _finally_ looks up then gasps loudly. "Oh! Yeah, you're right. So right. I wasn't looking, I wasn't looking at all." She shakes her head sadly. "Oh my, I...I—" She takes a deep breath, "yeah, no. Under no circumstance is a relative of mine is wearing _that_."

"It's the St. Margaret's uniform." Vision says with a shrug that earns him a glare.

"I'm a fashion designer, Vision, and a generous one at that. You don't think I can design the most kick-ass, smart, _breathable_, classiest looking uniform ever? Like in the history of ever?"

"I didn't say—"

"You're damn right you didn't say, V." The brunette slumps back in the chair furiously typing away on her phone mumbling under her breath.

Tommy frowns at Vision. "Why didn't you try contacting her _before_ we got this thing? I can already _be_ in my smart, classy, kick-ass, breathable uniform."

"As I recall, we only contacted her because of your grandfather."

Tommy sucks in a breath, "right." They glance at Janet take a sketchpad out of nowhere and start drawing on it. "She works fast." Vision nods in agreement. "Did she always have that notebook with her?"

Vision tilts his head to the left, "I do not know."

Janet's sketching with one hand and has her phone against her ear. "Let me call you back." She stops sketching, hangs up then dials someone else. "Dad? Hey! Boy, do I have news for you..."

Vision's phone starts vibrating so he takes it out of his pocket and stares at it for a good thirty seconds before re-pocking it. Twenty minutes before they're supposed to leave.

When Janet hangs up she puts the pad on her lap and starts sketching again. The brunette prefers physical drawings with her designs compared to using a tablet or some other impersonal electronic item. Call her old school, but feeling the strokes of the pencil, smelling the paper, watching everything unfold before her very eyes? There is no better feeling.

"You can't go wrong with flowers." Tommy and Vision exchange glances. "Nah." Janet shakes her head tearing the page from her notebook, crumpling it up, and tossing it on the floor next to the other crumpled sheets of paper. Tommy blinks because two minutes ago the floor didn't have pieces of crumpled paper on it. "That won't work." She mumbles, chewing on her pen. "I want something flashy."

Tommy glances at Vision as his phone starts vibrating again.

"What are your school colors?"

Tommy turns to Janet. "Red, white, and blue."

Janet stops sketching to look at him, "are you kidding?" Tommy gestures to his uniform. "Ooh. Ouch." She grimaces. "Now that I think about it you did make a patriotic comment." The brunette hums. "How to make the American Flag look flashier? Is that a thing I can do? Is that a thing anyone can do? I'm truly flabbergasted. I don't suppose I could change the school colors?" Tommy shrugs. "Maybe I can change how much of the color—" Vision's phone starts vibrating. "For the love of—answer the damn thing, V!"

Vision stares blankly at her then takes his phone out of his pocket and stares. Tommy and Janet stare back at him. He looks up at them, back at the phone, then at them once more. "It appears I am required elsewhere."

"How would you know? You didn't answer the phone." Janet narrows her eyes at him.

Vision looks at his phone again. "It's..."

"Private?"

He looks at Tommy then nods. "Yes. I'm sorry for leaving suddenly. Will you be alright taking Tommy to school, Janet?"

She sneaks a peek at Tommy who gives a one-shoulder shrug. "Sure. You can count on me, chief."

Vision nods. "Thank you. I will see you when you get home, Tommy. And Janet, thanks so much."

"Yeah, yea, you're welcome. Now go already." Vision nods once more, Tommy and Janet both wave to him as he walks out the apartment.

Janet continues to stare at the closed door for approximately five seconds before blurting out: "What the hell was that all about?"

Tommy shrugs. "He's been doing that a lot lately."

"Doing what?"

He picks up the second alternate uniform, holding it against his body. No American Flag on this one but somehow this uniform is even more horrendous than the original. Not that the original looks better by comparison. Either way, he puts the uniform down and takes a step away from it for good measure. "Acting cagey, checking his phone every two seconds, making secret phone calls, not answering secret phone calls, pulling disappearing acts, sending shifty glances all around. Things like that. Maybe the reason he doesn't wanna find Wanda is because he's seeing someone else?"

"Plausible, but I doubt it." Janet taps her pen against her notebook. "Vision waxed poetic about your mom. Only woman he ever loved. Blah, blah, blah. Disappearing. Blah, blah, blah. Sadness. Blah, blah—It was super irritating. Going on and on and on _and on_."

"Yeah?"

"Oh yeah. Thank goodness you didn't inherit his flair for the dramatic." Janet shakes her head. "Definitely got it from..." She sighs, "whatever. I need to know where he's going. Just what the hell is so important he'd miss your high school sendoff?"

"High school really isn't that big a deal." She glares at him. "Or it is? I wouldn't know."

Janet hums, clicking her tongue. "You know what? We should follow him."

"We should?"

"No one's ever on-time for the first day. Besides..." She points her pen at the closed door, "I'm intrigued."

"So am I but dad's entitled to a little secrecy." Janet raises an eyebrow then points at him, "what?"

"Secrecy. That's you."

"No. I was kept secret _from_ him."

Janet rolls her eyes, "_regardless_. I say we're going. I'm your ride, your great-grandmother, and I'm going to draw up some paperwork making me a guardian."

"Did you talk to dad about this?"

"No. I literally just thought of it." She waves him off, "I'll talk to him about it later. Point is, I'm already here and not that I have any experience in this field but raising a kid is hard work. I didn't need to raise one to know that."

"You never raised a kid before?"

"Hank and I split before the kid was in the picture." _Hank_. _That's_ what the H-guy's name was! Tommy would've never guessed that. "Then when it happened, I..." She shudders. "That's why I treat V like my baby." She grins at him, "and my baby's baby." Tommy grins back. "Now let's get going."

Tommy gasps, "wait! That means people are gonna see me in this uniform!"


	2. gaslight 'em up

You see or hear of stories all the time where a child in the system or fresh out of it jumps through hoops trying to connect with the parent(s) that abandoned them, seeking answers and whatnot. Borderline obsessive curiosity aside, William "Billy" Baraq Kaplan has no intention of fucking _everything_ in his life trying to find a bunch of people he may not share anything with, aside from DNA. Billy already has a loving, somewhat supportive family not bound to him by blood.

Rebecca and Jeff Kaplan adopted him when he was a bright-eyed, _slightly_ less cynical two-year-old. He may not have been in the system for very long, but that doesn't mean it didn't impact his life. The Kaplans tried to conceive for years but found themselves unable; they tried the adoption route a few times before to no avail, even potential surrogates fell through. All in all, they were genuinely unlucky when it came to children.

Four years after they adopted Billy, Rebecca gave birth to fraternal twin boys. Barring favorable, unrelated incidents following his adoption, his parents considered him their "miracle child." Maybe it was his low self-esteem or the fact that he was born with powers, but Billy felt the polar opposite of anything _miraculous_.

Which is ironic, because it's not exactly a conversation starter and, among individuals blessed/cursed with abilities beyond those perceived as "normal," it's pretty rare to be able to use any powers shortly after birth. It's even rarer to _remember_ your birth. His eidetic memory doesn't help his case.

Among his unfinished list of known powers, he has telepathy. There's no concrete proof, but he believes he used his telepathy to get his parents to adopt him. He might have (subconsciously or even _unconsciously_) used his powers for other things too. Controlling them growing up was no easy task; it still isn't easy.

Telling people (your parents or otherwise), you're a telepath – a coveted, somewhat rare, pretty damn powerful ability – would lead to a series of uncomfortable questions. Telling people you have the very coveted, very rare, extremely fucking powerful ability to _warp reality to your will_ is the best chance of getting you committed to the nearest maximum security psychiatric ward.

He isn't human because humans aren't _born_ with powers – that shit develops via freak accident or (unethical) experimentation. Doesn't have to worry about xenophobes (assuming that's the correct term) as his nature as an introvert deflects unwanted attention. No one would suspect him of being anything more than an angsty human teenager. Two outta three normally ain't bad.

Why bother going through the trouble of proving you aren't human when there's no proof against it? Why bother picking a fight when it'll only expose what you are? Or what you aren't?

Anthropological normativity places humans on the highest spot on the totem pole. In the eyes of xenophobic, speciesist humans: no other species exists and if they do they're nowhere near as important.

Although it'll be interesting finding out what he is, delving coincides with the "birth family" fiasco he's actively avoiding. He can't say he's _completely_ avoiding the birth family shtick, due to the one specific aspect he's clinging to, hoping to find out more about, and it has nothing to do with his biological parents.

Not that it would matter, human or whatever he is nothing would save him from discrimination. Same-sex marriages may be legal in a good chunk of the world, but that's not enough to magically erase every homophobic, biphobic, or heteronormative person (or _non-person_) on Earth. When he tried to tell his parents about his expulsion they mistook it for him coming out. Needless to say, they were fine with one thing and not okay with the other (well, they were more than just _fine_ with his sexuality).

Seeing his easy-going parents so angry was terrifying. No parent wants to hear of their child's expulsion, particularly parents who have no idea their child was a victim of bullying. Nevertheless, his expulsion was bound to happen sooner or later. The all-boys private school he attended was criminally homophobic. Case in point? Jonathan Kesler: middle school bully and all around dumbass. Though he didn't discriminate when it came to bullying, Billy was his favorite target. In some twisted horror film-esque way Billy figured he owed the guy thanks for the constant harassment. Had Kesler not pushed his buttons he would not have unlocked his kickass electrokinetic abilities. Quite the case of irony considering his middle name means _flash of lightning_ in Hebrew. Though almost killing the guy because he couldn't control his temper might've been a bit much. In his defense..., he couldn't control his powers either.

Hasn't been able to use electrokinesis after that. Assuming it is one of those "emotionally triggered" abilities he's going to have a serious problem on his hands – or in his mind.

"William." He turns slightly to the psychiatrist. "Staring out the window isn't going to make time go by faster."

Sighing, the black-haired teen flops back in his seat. It's comfier than the last few ugly couches he sat on, and the whole place gives off the feel of a living room rather than a psychiatrist's office. "My mother is a psychiatrist so you can take the kid gloves off."

"Very well." Billy doesn't like that tone but doesn't comment. "Did you enjoy electrocuting Mr. Kesler?"

Billy blinks at that. No hesitation in ripping the kid gloves off. He didn't _deliberately_ electrocute him; wasn't aware he could manipulate/generate electricity from his body until he told Kesler to "back the hell off." However, that wasn't the question. Saying he felt anything akin to remorse makes him a liar. Would _anyone_ feel empathetic injuring the asshole who relentlessly tortured you for six and a half months shouting every anti-Semitic and homophobic slur the Internet can provide? (Including several Billy honestly had to look up?) Contrarily, saying he took pleasure in watching Kesler writhe and twitch uncontrollably makes him both a sadist and a sociopath. Or would he be a psychopath? He always gets those two mixed up.

He's already at the psychiatrist, why bother lying? "Enjoy is a strong word." The psychiatrist nods, no doubt jotting that down in the notepad. If Billy's lucky, his potential sociopathic/psychopathic tendencies might tack on just one extra session instead of the usual two or three.

Narrowing his eyes, he takes in his psychiatrist's appearance. Dude's bald for starters, and in a wheelchair – surely he'd know how torment and discrimination feel. His former psychiatrists were "regular" (i.e. able-bodied, heterosexual, mentally sound) humans, who proudly stated they had no personal experience(s) with the shit he's undergone/undergoing. Having a psychiatrist relating to him is incredible. No longer would he have to listen to these so-called "experts" talk out of their asses drumming up their half-ass conclusions regarding his "problem areas." No longer would he get a lecture on fighting back his tormentor. Well, he can only hope with the fighting back part.

Arguably, the main reason higher-ups sent him _Professor Xavier's_ way had nothing to do with ableism or homophobia – it had everything to do with telepathy. During his last session, he sped up time to appease boredom. A blatant misuse of powers but, if nothing else, his sessions were great places for practice. Memory wipes are often pointless as if they don't see him do anything they'll just make shit up – shit far worse than using telepathy. He's been gaslit so many damn times he can't even think of a proper analogy for it. The people who schedule him for sessions referred him to someone "irregular" who could not only sense but stop him if need be. Word around the rumor mill (i.e. waiting room) is the psychiatrist—_his psychiatrist_—Professor Charles Francis Xavier is one of the top telepaths on the fucking planet. The _planet_ is a pretty big place! No one specified how "top" the top was: it could be top five, top fifty, top one hundred; the top was the top regardless of the exact number. All in all, his psychiatrist can do more than _stop him_ should the need arise.

Getting a telepathic psychiatrist is undoubtedly the suckiest part about this entire ordeal. Even suckier than telling his parents he has powers. He tried avoiding it, contemplated using his telepathy/"reality warping" to erase all knowledge involving his expulsion then create an elaborate cover story for his online middle school diploma. It's as immoral as it would be effective. Unfortunately, in true stereotypical sociopathic/psychopathic(?) fashion, it felt _wrong_ lying to his parents. Ironic, since he's read his parents minds and knows when they've lied to his face.

Needless to say, they took that news simultaneously better than his expulsion and worse than his sexuality. Then he got grounded for two weeks for lying to them for almost thirteen years. Had he known get grounded was a possibility he might have stuck with his original plan. His parents style of "grounding" is reminiscent of in-school suspension it keeps him in a room, _not his room_, all day except for sleeping. Occasionally, he's forced to interact with family members. Overall, a worse punishment than therapy.

Xavier is still writing in his little notepad. The guy seems nice enough, not bothering to pressure him for answers or _feelings_ like his other psychiatrists (not his mom) various schools sent him. Come to think of it, one school sent him to his mother for a session – words alone are incapable of summarizing the weirdness of that day. If the session didn't end early, since his mother was too into "mother mode" instead of "psychiatrist mode" there might have been the need to send Billy to his dad – the cardiologist.

"Obligatory subject change." The psychiatrist says suddenly, tossing his notepad onto the couch beside him in a rather unprofessional manner. His smile is a bit unsettling too. Unlike the professor-psychiatrist before him, Billy lacks experience essential for mentally one-upping fellow telepaths. A mental throwdown does sound emphatically kick-ass though. "Would you feel comfortable if we were to converse telepathically?"

"As a matter of fact, I would not, I would be immensely uncomfortable with that." Xavier laughs. "How did you get into this line of work?" Billy asks then glances at the clock behind Xavier. Fifty-two minutes left; damn hour long session. How the hell could all that take just eight minutes!? Did he unconsciously slow time down (again)?! "I know you're the psychiatrist suppose to ask me all the questions and everything—"

"Frankly—" The psychiatrist interrupts, "I don't mind answering." Billy regards him suspiciously then relaxes slightly in his chair. Putting his guard down completely wouldn't be smart, as far as Billy knows one cannot turn telepathy off making his mind an all-you-can-eat buffet of thoughts. _He_ knows what he's thinking, knows the psychiatrist-professor knows what he's thinking, what good would a constant reminder be? However, it's a two-way street, Billy's capable of reading his psychiatrist's mind too. "Truthfully, it happened by accident. First day of school I wandered into the wrong classroom and was instantly enamored." He sighs contently. "The way the professor spoke so passionately about psychiatry must have struck a chord with me."

"Helped that you were a telepath, huh?"

The psychiatrist laughs. "I'm afraid it was all thanks to hard work."

Billy glances around the room. _Hard work!? Hard work_ got the man five Ph.D.'s before thirty? When he was Billy's age he was well on his way graduating college number one, Billy hasn't even made it to high school yet! Hell, his middle school graduation was an e-mail! If he were a baseline individual this would be improbable; no, even a creature of a different species would have issues achieving all of this. Hypothesizing Xavier's species isn't difficult given the various mutant-related paraphernalia adorning the walls. Newspaper headlines from pivotal times in mutant history, a diploma from that mutant-only university, degrees in both mutant psychology and mutant psychiatry, pictures of himself at several mutant pride rallies. Had he not went to Genosha, where they screen students at the door, one might just think he is someone with an unhealthy, unnatural obsession with mutants overall.

Telepathy is not an inherently mutant trait after all – though the majority of telepaths _are_ mutants. It's one of those all squares are rectangles, yet not all rectangles are squares deals. Instead of a blatant mutant fetish (which is still possible) he's just proud as hell to be born a mutant.

Telepathy tops off Xavier's already unfair advantage of naturally high intelligence. Meanwhile, Billy – also with telepathy – is of average intelligence (maybe even _below average_). See? Unfair.

"Does your telepathy help with 'troubled clients?'" He air-quotes, "helps understand their minds and whatnot?"

"I would never use my power to 'magically' fix anything or anyone." Can you imagine how much money he'd lose if he did?! He'd put himself out of business! "However..." The psychiatrist rubs the back of his neck, "I do receive plenty of requests on the subject."

Billy snorts. With all the shit humans give mutants, they'd ask one to enter their mind simply for a quick fix? Typical. "Is that ethical?"

"It isn't _un_ethical. Telepathy is no more invasive than hypnotherapy or any 'brain-enhancing' drug."

Billy leans forward a bit, "I'm not sure that's true." He clicks his tongue, "have you ever fulfilled a telepathy request?"

At Xavier's raised eyebrow Billy grins. "I don't need telepathy to know you're baiting me."

"Not baiting, per se." He shrugs leaning back. "I'm genuinely interested in understanding my inner-self or whatever." Xavier just stares blankly at him. "I'm serious. Read me. Can't do it myself."

The thing about experienced telepaths (read: _not Billy_) is you don't feel them reading your mind. You'd think someone violating the hell out of your mind would hurt, but it's just the opposite. You know, unless hurting you is the intention. Billy's had purposely hurtful mind reading, and the kind that doesn't hurt. Both on the same day. Doesn't take a mind reader to know which he preferred.

Xavier leans back continuing to stare blankly at him. Billy doesn't know if he's reading his mind, psyching him out, or completing a new age ritual; whatever the hell he's doing it is nothing short of terrifying. He's wishing he could use his telepathy on himself. After a few seconds, the psychiatrist takes a deep breath. In addition to painlessness, mind reading is quick.

"That bad?" Billy jokes.

"'Bad' is not the qualifier I would use." The teen grimaces. "Unique might be more fitting. Simply put distinctly remembering your birth is extraordinary." Billy shrugs nonchalantly. Warping reality does that to a fella – though he'd have to wonder if he ever used that particular ability on himself. "I'd like to discuss the reoccurring dreams where you have an identical twin who murders you by ripping your heart straight from your chest then crushes it into dust?"

Billy laughs awkwardly then clears his throat. "That last bit might have been because of binge watching Once Upon A Time."

The psychiatrist nods knowingly, "in other dreams you live but they – and I quote – say _'they'll take great pleasure in seeing you suffer...?'_" Billy grimaces. He should probably stop watching that show if he keeps having these thoughts. He's fairly jaded as is. On the other hand, he just loves Regina whether she's The Evil Queen or not; but mostly when she's The Evil Queen.

"Does that even need explaining?"

"You tell me."

Billy tilts his head, "what does this have to do with my expulsion?"

"More than you realize."

Ugh. Talking in riddles is one thing he can't stand. Billy sighs, "so you want me to say out loud what you already know? I'm an identical twin who, in a classic movie scenario, was separated at birth." He shrugs, "still not drawing a comparison."

"You subconsciously punish yourself for what happened to your twin." Billy opens his mouth to protest, but the professor holds up a hand, "everything for the past fourteen years bottled up: all the anger, sadness, hopelessness, every feeling you've ever had? It overflowed and out came your powers."

So he's an empath. This is what he gets for _caring_ so much. "So you're saying I'm sabotaging my powers because of the feelings, particularly guilt, I have for nearly killing my twin from within our mother?"

"You've heard people saying it's unhealthy to keep your feelings bottled up, haven't you?" Billy gives a one-shoulder shrug. "It is especially dangerous for individuals with powers, and I doubt passing yourself off as a baseline made things easier."

"Can't say it made things harder."

"Do you intend on telling your parents you're looking for your twin brother?"

"I think we both know the answer to that question, even without the telepathy." Billy leans back in his seat, "besides I've been preoccupied with an expulsion, frequent psychiatrist visits, and other therapy sessions." By all accounts, Billy has no right trying to find his twin. It's because of Billy that his brother got sick and nearly died, several times and this was all during the birthing process. The separation was due to his twin going to the NICU after birth. The shit hit the fan after that and, oddly enough, Billy does not remember that part. It's almost as though someone blocked it from his mind.

Despite both the telepathy and an eidetic memory, he has no knowledge of what his brother looks like. Obviously, they'll look the same. How else would he look? They're identical. However, with genetics and all that, the specifics are unknown. In his dreams, his twin's figure was nothing more than a shadow, but if he had to guess, ideally, he'd say they had black hair and brown eyes just like he does. Unfortunately, realistically speaking, he's sure he's way off. He doesn't remember his birth mother's appearance either, but perhaps that's a good thing.

"—sought out a telepath to help get the memories you think someone either erased or suppressed?"

Oh, he zoned out. "Yeah, I guess." He shrugs, "didn't work."

"Let me ask you this: are you aware of telepathic bonds solely between twins?"

"Yeah, but I never thought they were _real_."

The professor nods, "or is it you not wanting to believe they are real? I'm sure you've _felt_ him."

"How—"

"Have you experienced subconscious urges?"

"Is that an appropriate question?"

The professor chuckles, "that depends..." He takes a deep breath, "let me ask you another question. Do you think it's possible you shielded your brother from telepathy?"

"No...?"

"You tried contacting him, yes?" Billy shakes his head. "This is your identical twin brother, William, the one person in this world who shares both a mental and physical connection to you. Even if he's unaware of your existence, with your bond, he should sense you."

Billy cringes, "I-I don't want to cause him any more pain. If I did shield him, or whatever, trying to break that shield could make him brain dead or kill him or some other horrible result."

"That is a good reason to be cautious." He nods to himself, "so you felt him yet didn't want to make contact out of fear of hurting him?"

"That's the gist. But how do I know I'm feeling him? I mean, I _know_, the uncharacteristic actions are not my typical neurotic behavior and could only be his – or I'm possessed, and I don't discredit the latter."

"Here is what I suggest." Billy sits up. "Try to track an energy signature similar to yours. Before you get excited—" He holds up a hand, "we have an exceedingly high likelihood your brother's energy is nothing like yours."

"Making trying to find similar or the same energy useless." Billy mutters.

"Indeed. That leads to another point I just thought of. Your twin may not have powers, at all." Billy grimaces, "then again, it's possible his powers are either dormant or undetectable. Also possible, are his fully developed or partially developed powers you are unaware of, and therefore, cannot find."

"Do you have any _good _news?"

"The only good news I can give you is there's a slight probability of finding the energy signature of the shield you created; if you created one."

_Slight_ wasn't good by normal means, but he's flying blind here so he'll take what he can get. Billy's a cautious guy: looks both ways before crossing the street, reads ingredients on everything before eating, checks doors twice to make sure they're locked; things of that nature. No matter how cautious, shielding his brother _from himself_, because he messed up once, seems a bit extreme. Fool me once shame on you; fool me twice – shame on me.

He selfishly got the hell out of dodge the minute he was able. Barely developed and hatching escape plans; half-ass escape plans but plans all the same. Hitting the third trimester (or even before that) his powers manifested. He didn't remember his mother, but he remembered the feeling of being unwanted. A dark, crippling feeling of hopelessness he couldn't shake. He was surprised she didn't just get an abortion to cut out the middle man.

A huge part of him is glad she went through with the almost full-term pregnancy, even if it meant putting them up for adoption. A bigger part of him was pissed his brother was pretty much left for dead while he was placed with the healthy babies. One might call that survivor's guilt; or an extension of it.

Considering the hospital he was born in wasn't for humans, he could only guess his mother wasn't human either. Meaning, neither was his brother – unless it was a freaky genetic thing that made his twin human and not him. If twins can be different races, they can be different species.

"Are you certain you wouldn't prefer this conversation to be telepathic?"

Billy sighs. Right, endless buffet of thoughts. "I'm not used to... doing that."

"If nothing else, it makes for a valuable learning experience." Billy gives a half shrug. "Speaking of learning, I belatedly realized two things about you: first off – you are as magical as you are telepathic and telekinetic. Most telepaths can't use telekinesis, let alone magic. For your body to harness these abilities equally without adding unnecessary strain is remarkable. However, since you use telepathy, telekinesis, and magic evenly your overall stamina depletes rapidly."

Hands down top three "shittiest things he's found out." All the fucking power in the world and next to zero PP for using it. That explains both his terrible participation grades in physical education and why he gets tired so damn fast. Coincidentally, two of the three things he found out today. In this very room. Getting his heart crushed into dust is more likely than finding his twin brother without telepathy.

"If you are so worried about your powers it does not hurt to get lessons." A pause, "for everything. Don't fret over finding someone, I have an associate you can call."

✪ ✪ ✪ .

Talking to psychiatrists, psychologists, even psychotherapists didn't suffice in his (mandated) quest for "normalcy." Higher-ups liked putting him in "group sessions" with other "troubled youths." Biweekly meetings were held in the youth center a few blocks from his house. Though adopted in New York, the location of his new psychiatrist, his family lives in New Jersey (Jersey City to be precise). From Jersey City to Manhattan is a half-hour car ride; a trip to Atlantic City is two hours long, and they do that monthly.

Fortunately, today is not a therapy day.

His mother drops him off/picks him up from appointments to tell other psychiatrists how to do their job. Seeing her chew people out is immensely (and sadistically) thrilling. However, when she picked him up from Xavier's she was in awe. Jaw-dropping, frozen on the spot awe. _Awed_ by Professor Charles Francis Xavier: bad-ass mutant telepath, world-renowned psychiatrist-professor-psychologist, personification of perfection, and apparent miracle worker getting Billy willingly speaking. Monosyllabic grunts were his forte with psychiatrists.

As his mother drives them back to Jersey City, in silence, his phone buzzes in his pocket. He doesn't need to use his telepathy or look in her direction to know she's scowling. Wordlessly, he takes it out and stares at the wallpaper. A picture of him and his best friend, America, with their "resting bitch faces."

He's not sure how his dad feels, but he knows his mother disapproves of their friendship. Not even subtly either, she blatantly gave him an extensive psychiatric lecture about befriending patients deemed "troubled." Beggars cannot be choosers; Rebecca Kaplan wanted her eldest son to interact, she never specified who to interact with or _how they should interact_. Besides, it is hella hypocritical, as he is classified as "troubled" alongside them.

No parent enjoys finding out their child is irredeemably fucked up – so they enable, coddle, treat him like nothing's wrong, unconsciously walk on eggshells, aggressively exclude him when referring to the mentally ill. How they manage doing all these things simultaneously is impressive. _Unhealthy_, but impressive.

America Chavez appears as "troubled" as they come. With this close to the weirdness magnet called New York, Billy's been exposed to a plethora of unusual names – both given names and nicknames. A never-ending source of patriotic puns, jokes, and phrases bestowed the brunette. The aforementioned brunette wasn't born in America (either America), wasn't even born on _Earth_. Whoever named her, whether it was the parents that dropped her off Superman-style or the people(?) who found her, was a sadist. America has no idea how she got her name, and not everyone has the _dis_pleasure of remembering their birth.

Before their friendship took off, the two of them spent ample amounts of time in therapy sessions sitting near yet not talking to each other. He figured if they see one another outside these four walls (unlikely), they're bound to greet one another (plausible). He never thought they'd be friends, let alone _best friends_. America is a tiny ball of Latinx, alien rage and how could Billy not enjoy the company of someone as cynical as he is?

The heteronormative, heterosexist world believes they're fucking (and frequently to boot) as men and women are incapable of forming an intimate friendship. He's sure his mother thinks they together, under the guise of "friendship," because she caught them in compromising positions. E.g.: America zipping up his fly, the two of them sprawled out on one another without pants, the fact that America sleeps in his bed when she spends the night, the list goes on. Unfortunately for the outsiders, they're both same-sex oriented. Something he found out a month after they became friends.

America (though she'll never admit it) is touch-starved, hell, Billy is too. Her species is unknown, as his Billy's but even if he knew he can't help feeling out of place with his family. One reason he's reluctant to completely give up on finding his birth family. Finding someone who gets that is rare. His family loves him, that much is certain, and they take his "uniqueness" in stride. However, as understanding as they are, they'll never know how he feels. They're human, and no amount of explanations give them a full grasp of his powers or the shit he's putting himself in. Billy isn't human nor can he keep pretending he is. Fourteen-and-a-half years is too long to play pretend; too long for his sexuality and too damn long for his species. He won't start high school as a closeted human.

Whatever he is, he's going to find out and he'll find his twin – not necessarily in that order. He may never be as proud as Xavier, but he'll own the hell out of his species. As for his twin, if needed, getting their forgiveness is the next priority. Because his twin will either forgive him with open arms or hold the world's worst grudge of utmost disdain. A mind-reader he may be, but foreseer he is not. Not that it matters, Billy doesn't need precognitive abilities to know the latter is an unfavorable, but higher possibility than having them "hug it out."

Just thinking about his twin hating him forever is enough to make him not want to find his brother at all.

"Do you two have any plans today?" His mother asks. The only thing she liked about him and America hanging out was his newfound habit of getting "fresh air." He spent the whole summer loafing around the house in his pajamas watching trashy television (his mother's words, not his). She should be grateful that's all he's doing. He isn't doing drugs, having anonymous sex or using his powers to fuck with people; any _more_ people. By definition, he's a good kid.

He opens his mouth to respond then closes it. Maybe they _should_ meet up. Today's Wednesday and America has MMA class. "I'm not sure..." He answers while texting. They've been driving for almost a half hour meaning they're close to home. He could always teleport to Brooklyn... but his mother doesn't know he can do that. Keeping all his _known_ powers from his family is not worth the added stress. He can barely practice magic without looking over his shoulder. Just last week he slammed his face into the window because his mother came in the room while he was levitating. America replies with a series of incomprehensible emojis, then sends another immediate text with just the letter Y. Billy texts back a simple _WTF_ because he doesn't know what she's doing.

Then his phone starts ringing. He glances at his mother, who grips the steering wheel a bit tighter, then answers.

✪ ✪ ✪ .

He meets up with America three hours later, all because his mother insisted on driving him to Brooklyn as opposed to a two-hour bus ride. Approximately fifty-three minutes in the car with traffic, his mother's passive-aggressive driving, the twins bitching in the background, and the confused questions of his father.

America greets him with a punch to the arm, waves at the family then drags Billy inside the building to dozens of sweaty people in workout gear. Although America isn't sweating (yet?), Billy notices she is wearing fewer clothes than usual, and she already has a penchant for baring her legs.

As he's looking around, a pair of boxing pads are thrust at his chest. Sighing, he puts them on then puts his now padded hands up defensively. "I didn't come here to be your sparring partner."

"Too late." She replies punching the left pad with her right hand, "start talking, we're gonna punch the shit out of your angst."

"What angst?" He gets a particularly hard punch in the right pad as a response. Billy sighs again, "the direct route is always the best route with you, isn't it?" America keeps on punching, alternating hands. "Fine." He grits out. Billy may possess telepathic, telekinetic, magical, world-altering _whatever_ but deep down he's a fleshy mortal prone to bruising; America will punch his face in, rearranging it, before he can conjure up any defense. She'll do it with a grin on her face too. "My new psychiatrist suggests I tell my parents about trying to find my twin." America halts in her assault on his hands, which he's grateful for because his wrists were starting to ache.

There are an agonizing thirty seconds of silence before she puts her fists back up. "You gonna do it?" He shrugs, she nods then starts punching again.

He was sure she was going to give him that unimpressed stare she uses when she's less than two-tenths of a second away from punching a hole in a wall. That isn't even an expression; she literally punched holes into walls after that particular look. It's in his masochistic nature (solely when it comes to America) to question her unusual behavior. "That's it? I know family is a touchy subject for you—"

"_Touchy_?" He's sure his left wrist cracks at the punch he gets through the padding. "You don't get to spin this around on me, Kaplan, if anyone is _touchy_ about _family_, it's you. I'm more than happy with the family I got." America's "family" consists of one Jewish Brooklynite composed _entirely_ of (orange) sedimentary rock who has a penchant for picking up strays – and the strays in question. There are six in total, including America, by Billy's count.

It was a scientific whatever that made Benjamin Grimm look the way he does know – Billy met him several times; after the "incident" transpired. There aren't any pictures of Ben before the "incident." America claims he doesn't look that different, but Billy finds that hard to believe.

"I won't even deny it's touchy for me." Her lip curls slightly and it's oddly reminiscent of that scene in The Devil Wears Prada where Holt shows Miranda that ugly dress and she curls her lip turning away. What was the word they used? _Catastrophe_. Yeah, that was it. This is going to be a catastrophe. Regardless of the shit he's diving head first into, he needs to shoulder through. "You think I need to tell them, don't you?"

"It doesn't matter what _I _think. You won't do it anyway."

"But you think I should."

"Look. Whether you tell them or not it won't stop you from looking. I just think it'll be easier if you had more eyes out there."

"I have you~" America rolls her eyes, "you know why I can't let them know." Another thing bothering him about the whole birth family debacle is once he meets his biological parents he figures his adopted parents will no longer need him. They already have two sons, _biologically_. He serves no purpose other than an occasional babysitter and paycheck drainer. All the twins' extracurricular activities don't add up to a tenth of the cost of Billy's psychiatrist sessions.

"And I still think it's a stupid ass reason." She rotates her shoulders, "they don't hand out receipts when you adopt and even if they did, thirteen years voids the warranty."

Billy sighs, "not only that but what if they think I'm ungrateful? I mean, I'm trying to find someone I'm biologically related to. For almost thirteen years I've had people I share no DNA with call me family."

"You have a right to try and find your birth family _while_ staying apart of the family you already have. So, as I said, your reasoning for not letting them know is stupid."

"Do you try to find your family?"

"Hell no. That is one can of worms I have no interest in opening. However, if I—if _it_—happens, I won't jump through hoops trying to avoid it. I think you just like being difficult. You do have a flair for the dramatic, Magic Boy."

"I do not!" America stares at him. "I try not to."

"You fail spectacularly. I may not be a telepath but I know you're still thinking bullshit along the lines of: _'I wasted thirteen years of the Kaplan's lives they can't get back. Unless I time travel, but I don't know if I can do that.'_"

"Your imitation of me is pitiful." Billy huffs, "but I see your point."

"Great. We're going to Ben's after this."

"Do I detect a sleepover?"

"You detect correctly."

"I'll call my dad."

✪ ✪ ✪ .

America attends a string of workout classes ranging from two to four hours. They developed a post-workout/ogling ritual, which consists of grabbing a bite to eat afterwards while talking about the workout/ogling that transpired.

His father gave him the a-okay to sleepover and since he already has plenty of sleepwear there's no need to pack.

The door chimes as they walk into Ben's Diner and Billy nearly trips over his feet when he sees whose occupying his usual seat. Every time he comes here, Ben claims he and America "distract customers" so they've been banished to the end of the bar with the wobbly stools Ben refuses to fix. He feels a thump, which is America bumping into him. Billy hears a quiet _"oh"_ then she side-steps around him. "Altman! What's with the getup?"

Billy would be a terrible friend, and telepath, if he didn't read America's mind once in a while. _Particularly_, when she tried setting him up with guys way out of his league. Example? Theodore "Teddy" Altman who, unlike previous times, is decked out in ridiculously patriotic attire: blue and white striped pants, a hideous yet well-fitted bright red sweater vest and what looks to be a blue button-down shirt. Surprisingly, the horrendous outfit doesn't take away from the guy's natural beauty; in hindsight, it doesn't make him look any better either.

Almost every time Billy's been here, he's seen the blond... with his biteable piercings, rippling drool-worthy muscles, effervescent hair, titillating green skin, and general adorableness. His mere existence is incredibly unfair. There have been many a night he had to soundproof his bedroom.

Ben comes from the back room and blinks, "what the fuck are you wearing?"

"I asked first." America says then plops down at the stool in front of Ben.

Teddy looks down and laughs. His voice is surprisingly softer than Billy thought it would be. It's almost hypnotic, "it's my school uniform."

America shakes her head, "sorry." It's strangely the most sincere Billy's ever heard her.

"It's not all bad." He glances at Ben and America, "it is, but I'm not the only one wearing it."

Billy takes the seat beside America with far more force than intended, then stares holes into his menu. "What school would punish their students by creating _that_?" America asks.

"It's St. Margaret's..." America glances at Ben who shrugs, "a private school in Manhattan."

"You paid for a _private school?_" America asks Ben.

"He didn't pay for it. My mom left me money in her will—"

"And you blew it on a school with an ugly-ass uniform?"

"When you put it that way it sounds terrible." America facepalms, "you chose a school in Jersey City. At least I'm in the same state."

"_That's_ your argument?" America tsks, "I chose Liberty High because _he's_ going there next week." She jerks her thumb in Billy's direction nearly poking him in the eye, "it's gonna be fun going to high school with him. You shoulda chose Liberty High too, the three of us could've attended together. Remember how you were saying—"

"I chose St. Margaret's—" Teddy interrupts, "because that school is kinda like Monster High. They accept everyone—"

"Everyone with money." America mutters.

"Regardless. I can look..." He gestures to himself, "and it's okay. I'm not close to being the only alien in that school. The school has Alien Understanding Classes for human students." America whistles. "So, it's worth the money."

"I'm with the kid on the fancy, accepting school. Of course, I would've preferred you two going to a nice Brooklyn High School."

"You know why I can't go to school in Brooklyn..." They reply. Ben groans loudly then goes in the back room. Billy knows why America can't attend any public, private, or charter schools in Brooklyn, Bronx, Queens, Newark, or Staten Island but he doesn't know why Teddy can't attend a school in Brooklyn. Then again, he barely knows anything about Teddy.

"Anyway..." America says getting up then walking over to Teddy. It's like ping-pong with those two. Whenever they're within shrieking distance of the other, an argument breaks out. One time they _physically fought_ over the best puzzle game. Neither of them won. They probably fought like brother and sister because that's how they viewed each other. Teddy is a(n alien) stray "picked up" by Ben. "Check out our school and we'll see yours."

"We?" Billy squeaked. Teddy's eyes met his and he furrowed his eyebrows at the menu.

"Yes, William, _we_." Damn, full given name? America's serious. Sighing, Billy forces his head to raise in their direction. He could be imagining things (in fact, he's fairly certain he's hallucinating) but the space between him and Teddy seems to narrow by one stool. "I'll admit it'll be kickass to be able to fly and shit in school."

"Hey, remember seventh grade 'test flight?'" Teddy asks elbowing America.

America snorts, "hard to forget." Right, these two attended elementary and middle school together. Meanwhile, he was getting picked on by homophobes. "I still think the class overreacted."

"You flew into the burning building to get your favorite backpack."

"That Powerpuff Girl bag is a collector's item, Altman; I still have it."

"They fly, you fly. I get it. I introduced you to the show."

"You forgot to mention our shared badassery."

"I didn't forget." America rolls her eyes. "Since you two don't start school for another week you should check out my school tomorrow."

"Tomorrow? Are we doing anything tomorrow, Kaplan?" As they were talking to one another, Billy had time to return his attention to the menu before him. For the question, his brain screams lie but his damn traitorous head replies in the negative. "Then tomorrow it is. We don't have to dress like you, do we?"

"I don't think so."

"Then I look forward to it." They shake hands.

✪ ✪ ✪ .

The only thing about sleepovers Billy despises are his parents frequent checkups. Sleepovers are so infrequent they feel the need to check on him periodically. Much like how they find reasons to knock on his bedroom door whenever America stays over. He may only sleep over here, but his parents know America lives on her own – even if it's in Ben's building.

For the first time in forever – excuse the Frozen reference – Billy awakes from a dreamless slumber. In all actuality, he woke up to a leg draped across his midsection cutting off his air, but he had no dreams before that. No homicidal, vindictive twins gunning for his heart. No sinister cliché lines of revenge. Just a vast, endless sea of nothingness. If it wasn't so strange it would be refreshing.

After untangling their limbs and showering, they head to Manhattan (correction: the Upper East Side of Manhattan – xoxo) to scope out St. Margaret's Academy. "It is not an omen."

"It's an omen." Billy disagrees, shaking his head. "Why else would I not have the same dream I've had for the past month and a half? Something is going to happen."

America leans into him, "you getting a closer look at Altman in his ill-fitting uniform?"

Billy resolutely refused to blush. "I meant something bad." A pause, "_shit_, I meant—"

"Oh, I know what you meant." Billy sighs. "That reminds me, you read Altman's mind recently?"

"I've never read Teddy's mind."

"_Never_? Never?" Billy glances at her, "you told me and I quote, _'telepathy has no off-switch.'_ How are you not reading his mind? You can't _not_ read it..." America's eyes widen. "It's killing you how badly you wanna slip."

"You have no idea how much concentration it takes to only get the gist and not read anything too personal." He rubs his temples and America grins at him. "No, I will not use my telepathy for matchmaking." She snaps her fingers in disappointment. "Or _that_."

"Give into your baser instincts, Billy."

"Like you?" She nods. "No thanks."

"Even if something bad happens?" Billy narrows his eyes.

"Something bad's gonna happen?" They turn to Teddy who practically appeared out of nowhere. "I didn't think you two would get here before me."

"We wanted to scope the place." Teddy wrinkles his nose adorably. "Not only that way."

"Right." America rolls her eyes, "so... what's gonna happen?"

"Good question. Ask Billy." Teddy slowly turns to him and Billy gives an awkward wave, accompanied by an even more awkward expression posing as a smile. It's been a while since he's been in Teddy's proximity; he forgot it makes him flakier than usual.

He eventually snaps out of his stupor. "I just feel like something's gonna happen." He says with a shrug.

"Like us having to wear those uniforms bad." Teddy whistles. "Anyway, show me your schedule?" Unlike yesterday's shirt, today's has a tiny pocket Teddy takes a piece of paper out of. "Damn, Altman, you—" America glances up, "why are you tapping me?"

"Nothing's moving."

"What?" Teddy grabs her shoulders then turns her in a full circle. "What the fuck?"

"My sentiments exactly."

America grabs Billy's arm drawing him near, "this isn't me."

"No." The three of them whip around facing a man wearing a cape. "This is my work." He looks them over, "isn't this cute and unexpected." They stare at him. "Also, I wouldn't break this little chain you created as it's the only thing keeping you unfrozen." The cape-wearing man bows. "Now then, I believe introductions are in order. I am Stephen Strange. Professor Xavier requested my assistance in helping William control his abilities."

"_Now_?" Teddy asks.

"No time like the present." Strange's cape billows inexplicably as _time is still frozen_.

"I kinda have school."

"Forget that. Did you have to stop time or do you enjoy making dramatic entrances?"

"Both." America shakes her head.

✪ ✪ ✪ .

Strange honest-to-goodness _teleports_ them in front of a fancy looking building. Why did he drag Teddy into this? America knows how this shit works – although the most he's fucked with time was a few minutes. How will he explain this? His psychiatrist sent a what the fuck ever his way for magic training? He'll be surprised if Teddy so much as looks in his direction again. The guy may be an alien, but that doesn't mean he's gonna understand _this_. Billy's having a hard time comprehending what's going on and he's directly involved! On a brighter note, it was the first time he ever willingly used his magic on another individual that isn't America, _if_ he's the reason the three of them weren't frozen in time. Billy wonders if time resumed after their disappearance. "Where did you take us?" He hears America ask.

"My home." Is the reply. "If I am to teach William, he'll need to train in the best possible location."

"Isn't that a bit narcissistic? And, follow up question, how did you find us?"

"I detected an unusual magical energy."

"Of course you did." Billy grumbles. He's pretty sure Xavier didn't want this guy to pop up and drag him away to train _right this second_, but he is starting high school in less than a week. If Billy had the ability to pinpoint people just by thoughts he'd be having one hell of a telepathic conversation with the professor-psychiatrist.

"What's with the cape?" Teddy asks. "Didn't you see The Incredibles?"

"I have no intention of flying near an aircraft, so I believe my cape is safe." America and Teddy nod to each other in a Mordecai and Rigby fashion. "I was told you are also a telekinetic telepath?"

"You were told correctly?" Billy glances at America who shrugs.

"All this gossiping don't go against patient confidentiality?"

"Ever read the fine print in contracts that say the doctor has the right to discuss issues with other doctors?" America narrows her eyes. "The only thing we discussed was his abilities, I can assure you. Now then, I'll need to access your current level and work from there." A clipboard appears out of thin air and Strange starts writing on it. He glances up at the teens staring at him. "William requires training in magic, telepathy, and telekinesis, yes?"

"You're teaching him all three?"

"Billy's a telepath?" Billy grimaces. He forgot Teddy doesn't know about his powers – _or didn't know_. Adds one more thing he's gonna have a hard time explaining. Teddy's about to learn a shitload of things about him while Billy gets squat in return. Story of his life.

"Not only that, but he is also part mage and part telekinetic." Teddy whistles lowly, "I agree, it is astounding. It is the reason Professor Xavier contacted me. I am the Sorcerer Supreme, my powers span far beyond your realm of understanding." America mumbles something and Billy elbows her for it.

"If you're teaching Billy, we shouldn't be in the way. Where do we park?" Teddy asks.

"Hmmm..." Strange taps a finger to his chin, "how about next to Brother Voodoo." America and Teddy look around until their eyes land on another man, with his back turned, in front of a cauldron.

"Seriously?" America asks. Strange nods. America nods back – with a destructively curious glint in her eyes Billy has come familiar with – then trots over to the man with Teddy in tow. Honestly, it's the perkiest he's ever seen America. It may not look like much to the untrained eye, but she's _buzzing_.

Strange clears his throat. "Now that our cynical friend is occupied, we can begin your training." His hands start glowing. "Before we begin, I have one question: how did you know to shield your friends? Were you aware of my spell?"

So it _was_ his doing. Go him. "No, I—" Strange jots something on the clipboard. "Wait! First of all, you asked me two questions and secondly, you _meant_ to freeze me in time?"

"Yes. No. I did but not exactly. I had to gauge your reflexes, which I must say are superb."

"How do you know I didn't just get lucky?"

"You did." Billy gapes. "You aren't aware of other magic users but having good reflexes is not a bad place to start. However, your habit of unconsciously shielding individuals needs to stop."

"So the professor told you—"

"About you shielding your twin brother? Yes. He also told me about your quest to find said twin. Do not worry, this isn't the first time I've dealt with a situation like this."

"Eleven times as a matter of fact?"

"What?"

"Nothing." Billy waves him off, "I make references when I'm nervous, and I'm itching to make a Karate Kid one..."

"I have to ask you to refrain." Billy sighs heavily.


End file.
